STANDING AT THEwindow, high in his tower, Torquil surveyed the activity below. As the sun spread its rays, more and more of his people emerged from their hovels to scurry about their day’s work, indistinguishable from this height.
Pathetic, interchangeable little beings, all of them, with no better purpose for their existence than to serve him as docile cattle.
Not all of them interchangeable, he amended his thoughts. And not all so docile. Though the little whore who’d spent the better part of her night begging for her life would think twice before she questioned his demands again.
Her and her ugly, muddy eyes.
He should have given her to the beast stirring within him. Next time, he just might.
He leaned his arms on the windowsill, drawing the crisp, fresh air into his lungs in an attempt to forestall his need for sleep. The whole of yesterday had been given over to the pursuit of the scroll’s spell.
He was so close in his efforts, he’d actually felthis body turning to mist on his last attempt. But then his cluttered, mortal-contaminated mind had betrayed him and the moment had slipped from his grasp.
Today, if he could but push beyond the limitations of his body, if he could but ignore his need for food and sleep, today could well be the day he succeeded.
The air he drew deeply into his lungs burned, the acrid stench of peat searing a path up his nostrils.
Peat? Impossible! He’d forbidden its use at Tordenet. He detested the smell. Wood or nothing, they’d all been warned; but someone down there had chosen to ignore that warning. Someone who would pay for such defiance.
Torquil leaned out the window, searching for any sign of who had dared disobey his order. Smoke curled from every building within sight, including several stacks on his own keep. The smoke coming from the chimneys all looked the same whether it was from the soldiers’ barracks or the east wing of the building in which he stood.
Irritation tightened his chest as he pulled his head back inside. It was as if they knew he didn’t yet dare take to wing in the light of day. As if they intentionally sought to highlight his failure.
But that wouldn’t save whoever did this. He’d send a party of men to check each of the structures on the castle grounds, one by one. A sound plan, that. They would be found there, not within thekeep itself. Though even if he were to search the keep, it wasn’t as if he needed to check every wing. There would be no fires at all in the east wing of the keep. That had been shut down since...
He lunged back to the window, straining to peer out to his right.
Thereshouldbe no fires in the east wing. None of those rooms had been occupied in the months since Malcolm’s wife and her companion had been housed there. Yet, like a mystery waiting to be solved, smoke curled up from the chimney.
And solve it he would.
Artur. Ulfr. Come to me.
He stepped back from the window, panting as if he’d run a long distance, more exhausted than usual from the effort required by the Magic. His night without sleep had clearly taken its toll.
Crossing the room, he stopped in front of the fireplace, adjusting the stones under the mantel until one gave way, revealing the resting place of his treasures. He would need the scroll this day. It was his intent to master the spell of transport before he allowed himself to rest again.
He carried the polished wooden box to the great table and placed it reverently in the center before lifting the lid. Freed of their confinement, it was as if the scrolls spoke to him in a melodic murmuring he could not yet fully understand.
A murmuring that soothed his soul even as it soothed the sleeping beast within.
He braced his arms on the tabletop, resting in the comfort of the sound only he could hear, while he waited for the men he’d summoned. They had no choice but to obey. It was one of the more useful spells he’d mastered from the scrolls.
When they did arrive, two grown men doing their best to mask the confusion they felt at the compulsion of his call, he was ready.
“Follow me,” he instructed, leading them from his tower to the stairs in the east wing. “Swords at the ready, men. It would appear we’ve an intruder.”
That the security of his keep had been breached was of great concern to him. It was for that reason alone he’d called these two men to accompany him, delaying the start of their journey to capture the Sinclair heir.
Only one set of rooms in this wing housed a fireplace large enough to have the chimney he’d spotted from his window. The rooms his father had built for his Tinkler whore. Deandrea’s chambers.
Though he’d expected resistance, the door opened easily to his touch and he stepped inside the room. Through the parted curtains surrounding the bed, he spotted his prey. One lone body curled upon the bed.
A body he recognized instantly, pushing all security concerns from his consideration.
“I can handle this from here. The two of you have men waiting their departure for you to join them, do you no? Go, without delay.”
He closed the door behind him and surveyed the room before silently making his way to the bed.
